


No Other Star

by voleuse



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-14
Updated: 2010-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I pass across your burning form</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Other Star

**Author's Note:**

> Set before 3.08.  
> Title and summary adapted from Pablo Neruda's _Sonnet XVI_.

The door to Michael's apartment didn't creak as Fiona swung it open. She shut it quietly and slipped out of her sandals, the moonlight spilling over her like a waterfall. Michael stirred in bed, arm sliding under his pillow for the hidden gun, but when he saw her, he relaxed.

"Fi," he murmured.

She slid under the comforter. "Go back to sleep," she said. She wrapped an arm around his waist, and he settled back, pressing his chin against the top of her head.

"You sure?" he asked. His hand trailed down her spine, fingers tracing circles against the small of her back. She arched, tempted, but her nails snagged against gauze taped around his ribs, remnants of a job they'd pulled three days ago.

She kissed his collarbone. "You can owe me," she said.

"I'll make you breakfast," he replied. His arms enclosed her, and she sighed.

She pressed her ear over his heart and said, "You'd better."

*

 

A job took her out of town for a few days, following a bail-jumper up to Tampa. She managed to catch him with a minimum of hurt, mostly because she didn't want the local PD to look too closely at her when they arrived to pick up their runaway. "Bounty hunting's illegal," one of the cops said, scowling.

"Bounty hunting?" Fiona smiled as wide as she could. "I'm just a concerned citizen."

The cop rolled his eyes, but walked away, and Fiona called her client and delivered the good news.

*

She spent the night in a mid-class hotel, spinning a blade between her fingers and watching HBO. Her phone rang close to midnight, and she didn't need to look at the ID before answering. "Hello, Michael," she purred.

"Are you back in town yet?" He sounded annoyed, not anxious, so Fiona dropped her knife on the carpet and stretched back on the bed, reveling.

"The job took me a little longer than I thought it would," she said. "You don't miss me, do you?"

"Fi," he said, as if that was the answer. "It's been four days."

"Three," she corrected.

"And a half," he replied. "When are you coming home?"

"Tired of watering my plants?" she asked. "Or do you need my help with something?"

"Can't it be both?" he said, and she could hear his smile over the phone.

"So." Fiona turned on her side, curling against the plush comforter. "Tell me about it."

She heard Michael's old chair creak as he settled into it, and suddenly, she missed Miami.

*

 

As she parked her latest car on the street, she noticed light spilling from her bedroom window. She left her duffel bag in the back, but pulled a pistol from her glove compartment and tucked it into her waistband. She walked around the long way, hopping over the low wall of a neighboring garden before angling herself through the bathroom window, still propped open.

Fiona braced her shoulder against the door frame and took a deep breath before edging out, glancing into the empty bedroom before she heard a rustle in the kitchen. She counted to herself, _one, two_\--

"You're lucky I'm not feeling jumpy tonight," Michael announced, flicking the kitchen lights on.

Fiona rolled her eyes, dropping her gun on the counter as she entered. "You couldn't have warned me?"

"You never warn me," he replied. He rested a hip against the counter, a smile flickering on his lips. "And you're always jumpy."

"Ha," Fiona said, clipping the vowel short. She hooked her finger through his belt, and he bent his face to hers, cupping her face between his hands. "Careful, Michael," she murmured, but he only shook his head and kissed her.

That sudden, familiar longing rushed through her, the fear this would be over, once again, too soon. Fiona rose on her tiptoes, curled her ankle around the back of his knee, and he picked her up, set her on the counter without even a stuttering breath.

Fiona pressed her hands to Michael's belly, yanked his shirt upwards, insistent, but he clutched her closer, his mouth searing against hers. It was always like this, as if every time was their first, desperate time, as if Michael forgot what this felt like, in the long intervals between. Fiona gasped, drawing breath from him, forgoing his shirt to yank at his belt, pull on the fastenings of his jeans until she could wrap her hand around him.

"Fi," he said, but it was a groan, his hands rough against her thighs as he yanked off her bikini bottoms, brushed his fingers against her, found her wet. "Fi," he said again, and she dragged her nails against the cloth of his shirt as he thrust once, twice inside her.

She moaned, touched her teeth to his throat, and when he pulled her hips closer, she grabbed onto the counter's edge, laughing joyful, breathless.

*

The bathroom door creaked, startling Fiona from slumber, a knife already in hand.

"Fiona," Michael said, and she blinked and tossed the knife on the nightstand. Michael was half-dressed, in a polo shirt and boxers, his hair still mussed from the night before.

"Morning." She stretched, letting the sheets fall from her body, letting Michael's eyes drift in ways he didn't usually allow. "Come back to bed?"

Michael shook his head, grinning. "I made breakfast, Fi."

"Ah." Fiona slid out of bed, swayed across the room and into Michael's reach. She raised her chin, brushed her lips against his cheek. "And then what?" she asked.

"We'll see what happens," he said, and when Fiona smiled, he kissed her once again.


End file.
